


Gambit One Shots

by LadyMoonshadow



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: AUs, F/M, Humor, M/M, Original stories with original characters, Pranks, Romance/Fluff, Stealing, Stories inspired by real events, mature content in later chapters, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9040457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMoonshadow/pseuds/LadyMoonshadow
Summary: A collection of stories featuring Remy LeBeau/Gambit.
DISCLAIMER: I own neither Gambit nor any of the other characters found in relation to the X-Men. The version of Gambit used in these stories is one of my own making from an rp account elsewhere. All OCs are used with permission from their creators. All stories are created for entertainment purposes only.





	1. The Great Canine Caper

Stepping out of his car, Remy's eyes flicked behind his dark sunglasses, quickly taking in both the well manicured lawn and the pathetically simplistic security system of his newest client's home.  He closed the door on the Jaguar he'd borrowed and straightened his suit jacket, little props that his client would expect from someone of his reputation; he didn't need them for his work, but his employers often felt better about him for having them.  
  
The majority of client meetings were theatrics, nothing but a show put on to impress, but the better the show, the better he was paid, and from the looks of this place, they could afford to pay him very well.  
  
It was a mansion, you couldn't call it anything else with its size, its shape, the state of the grounds, but it was on a smaller scale than he was used to seeing from people that requested his services. Still, being a thief, he knew quality when he saw it and despite his background and chosen field, or maybe because of them, he knew how to play to this particular crowd.  
  
Smiling pleasantly, he walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell. He checked his reflection quickly in the door glass and his smile turned to a smirk; his hair was tied back, leaving his face open and even though his sunglasses were still in place, he knew they only added to the image. He was expected to be a bit mysterious, that he was attractive was often an unexpected bonus, one he wasn't above using when the situation demanded it.  
  
The smirk died on his lips when the front door was thrown open and he found his arms full of a hysterically sobbing woman.  
  
Well this was new....  
  
He took her by the arms gently and eased her back inside, trying not to be annoyed that he now had tear stains on the front of his silk shirt. He stepped in behind her and closed the door before he spoke, "Madame, my name is Remy-"  
  
"I know who you are Mister Lebeau," the woman pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of her startling pink pantsuit and dabbed at her already mangled mascara, "please, you have to help me... He took her, he took my baby..."  
  
Quickly, he thought back through the file he had on this woman. There hadn't been any mention of a child, but that hardly mattered now. The whole thing had abruptly taken on a new urgency for him so he layered the charming persona with concern and laid a hand on her arm. "Dat's why I'm here. Why don't we sit down an you can tell me everythin'?"  
  
"Oh, I can't sit. I couldn't possibly." She paced back and forth across the foyer, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor. "He's had her for six days. I can't even begin to imagine what he's done to my baby. The police won't even do anything, they say I have to take it up with the lawyers..."  
  
He briefly recalled reading that the lady and her husband were very recently divorced, but there had been nothing about a little girl or a custody agreement. He was going to have some serious words with his people when this was over. It wasn't like them to leave out information this important and now he was walking in damn near blind. He scowled behind her back; this was going to come out of someone's ass....  
  
"If her father's taken her, I doubt she's in any real danger." He said soothingly.  
  
"He's never been her father," she wailed, "he never loved her, he never even wanted her! He just wanted the money she brought in, the fame..."  
  
"Excuse me?" Now he was really lost. He pulled off his glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket.  
  
Her voice was high and nasal, maybe from crying he didn't know, but he did know she was making next to no sense and her voice, and the horrendous perfume she was wearing, was giving him a headache. Her statements were confusing and bordering on troubling; he had a soft spot for children, not something he liked to advertise, but it was true, and what she'd said could be taken a number of ways.  
  
"Ms. Monroe, I will help you in any way I can, but you gotta calm down an talk to me straight. If you think your ex-husband could be hurting your little girl, we don't have time to stand here an talk about it."  
  
"You're right..." She dabbed at her eyes again and smiled weakly. "Follow me please? I'll take you to her room." She turned and started across the great room to a set of curving stairs that would take them to the higher floors, chattering all the while.  
  
He only half listened as he followed her, his mind able to process her words while he scoped out her house. Persian rugs, crystal vases, paintings that she would have insisted were real, but having at one time been in possession of the originals himself, he knew them to be very high quality knockoffs. A lavish home for a woman accustomed to wearing Prada. Oh yes, he was going to be paid very well for this one.  
  
Though he would never admit it, the money was secondary now that he knew just what it was he was to be retrieving. The child's name had him focusing once more on his hostess. Trixie? Who the hell called their kid Trixie? Did they want her to grow up and have to have a therapist on speed dial?  
  
He shook his head and stopped behind her as she opened a door, "This is her room?" At her nod, he stepped around her and looked around. A huge canopied bed sat against the far wall covered in a pale pink silk bedspread and matching drapery. The shade was echoed in the gauzy curtains fluttering on the windows and in the wall to wall carpet. It offended his sense of style, but it was immaculate, and by the amount of toys and stuffed animals on the bed, the child was more than likely a little spoiled.   
  
It was no surprise that it was a bigger room than any one young child would ever need, but coming from a rich family, that wasn't unusual. What was unusual, were the multiple pictures of poodles all over the walls. Closer inspection revealed them to be the same poodle. He walked over to the large portrait over the fireplace, a strange addition to a kid's room, and studied the dog with a sneaking suspicion.  
  
Either the kid was seriously in love with this dog or... He found the heart shaped dog tag on the collar and slowly turned, fighting to keep his temper in check. "Trixie is a dog?"  
  
She couldn't hear the danger in the soft spoken inquiry and gaped at him as if he'd done something rather rude in public. "Well of course not! Trixie is a prize winning, miniature poodle. She's a champion! And he took her! That bastard has my baby," she planted her hands on her hips and glared at him, "Are you going to help me or not?"  
  
"Dat's what you're payin' me for," he nodded, turning back around to look more closely at the dog. That's what it came down to for him now, the money. Gone was the charm, the pleasant aura he'd been broadcasting since he'd gotten out of the car. He could be professional for the kind of money he'd get from the job, but he didn't have to be friendly.  
  
"Ya said your ex-husband has her, I'm gonna need his home an work addresses an any phone numbers you got for 'im."  
  
"You're going to call him?" She scoffed and crossed her arms, tapping the toe of her white Prada shoe against the floor, "as if I haven't tried that myself a million times?! Is that what I'm paying you to d-"  
  
"Ms. Monroe, I have no intention of calling your husband and my methods are none of your business." His tone silenced her quickly enough, but he'd lost the minute amount of patience he'd had left for this woman. "You sought me out and I'm here to do a job. Now the sooner you get me that information, the sooner I can get your dog back to you."

~*~

Slamming back into the car, he punched in a number on his phone and connected his headset. He'd agreed to take the damn job, but someone was going to explain this, and the same someone was going to do some of the grunt work for not sharing a few rather important details.  
  
"Courier here."  
  
"Ya sound entirely too cheerful Jake, for a man dat's gonna get a black eye de next time I see 'im."  
  
"You can't blame this one on me," the man laughed on the other end of the line, "this is all your fault Mr. 'I don't get outta bed for a job that pays under ten grand.' Well, you can partially blame your brother, he passed it along to you. What's the matter? I thought you liked dogs."  
  
"No one told me what de fuckin' job was Jake! I thought she was talkin' 'bout a goddamn kid!"  
  
"Oh...whoops..." He chuckled weakly, "Surprise?" He sighed softly and continued, "I'm sorry Rem, I didn't know that you didn't know. I didn't take the call. I would have told you if I'd known. What's the plan?"  
  
"I'm gonna do a lil scoutin', you're gonna take de information I'm gonna text you, an find out what ya can an get back ta me."  
  
"On it boss, Courier out."

~*~

  
Courier, or Jacob Gavin Jr, Jake to Remy, was late...again. It shouldn't have surprised him anymore, rarely in all the time he'd known him had Jake ever been on time, but it was a massive pain in the ass. Remy stood across from the high rise where his client's ex lived, leaning against the door of his borrowed car, and wondered yet again why he put up with the man.  
  
Granted, he hadn't freaked out about his eyes or his powers, not that Jake had much right, being a shape shifting mutant, and when he did do his job, he did it well, but when Remy was on a job, he didn't relish the waiting, not when he could already have been in and out three times over by now.  
  
He flipped open his phone with a brief glance at the display and rolled his eyes, "every second ya waste is another dollar I take from your cut-"  
  
"Now that's just mean," Courier laughed, "here I am, being thorough, and you have to hit below the belt."  
  
"Well, generally, when someone's a lookout, dey need ta be at de damn location to look."  
  
"You know who whines Rem? Babies- Now shut your pretty Cajun yap and look up." He flicked the lights on and off in the room he was in. "You see that? Your ass is covered, get moving."  
  
Chuckling, Remy put in his ear piece, tucked his phone in his pocket, and walked casually into the lobby as if he passed in and out daily. "Ya know I hate it when you cover my ass," he murmured stepping into the elevator, "you always get distracted."  
  
"Oh blow me-"  
  
"Ya walked right into dat one..."  
  
"We're working here remember? Husband's out, at a country club with the lady he was banging while he was still with his wife. You've got time."  
  
"Ya know Jake, sometimes you gimme more information den I really need."  
  
"Nag, nag, nag. The door's at the end of the hall on the left. I'm in their system, the cameras are down, you're clear."  
  
A few minutes and a couple picks was all he needed to gain entry into the apartment, and he stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind himself.  
  
Lived in, was his first impression. Clean, but not as fancy as the large house he'd lost in the divorce. He glanced at the pictures on the mantle, the ex husband and a woman clearly not his wife. She was prettier than the wife, and he hoped, for the man's sanity, that her voice wasn't as annoying.  
  
He scanned the apartment with a thief's eyes, taking note of valuables, the placement of certain noticeable items. He'd discovered in his many years of thieving, that there were certain things a person paid attention to, you could move anything else in a room and no one would have the slightest clue, but those objects that popped out, those you had to watch out for.  
  
It was too easy, picking his way through the apartment, going room by room, looking for one prize winning, miniature ball of fluff.  
  
A dog. He was still just a little pissed that the woman had carried on so much over a dog. He understood a person loving their animals, but she took it to the extreme. It shot far beyond affection for him and into creepy, but it wasn't his job to contemplate the client. He was here for Trixie. Trixie...even the name was stupid....  
  
He found her in the washroom, a fact he was sure would make her owner squeal in horror, laying in a plain, simple dog bed on a towel. He was met with a high pitched yip and an uncertain tail wag, and he knelt down, feeling a little of his resentment fade; it wasn't the dog's fault her owner was a nutcase.  
  
He held out his hand for her, letting her come to him. She may be no bigger than a stuffed animal, but she was still a dog, and often times it was the cute, cuddly ones that would gnaw your arm off. With introductions made, he scooped her up and started back through the apartment. If he petted her a little along the way, well, who would know?  
  
He heard the elevator doors open outside and he quickly ducked inside the nearest room, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. Shit...no one was supposed to be home this early. He glanced down at the little dog, trying not to be charmed at the cute tilt of her head; so much trouble for one tiny pompom.  
  
"Remy! They're back!"  
  
"No shit," he whispered, scanning the bedroom for a place he could hide if it came to that. "You're useless Jake."  
  
"It's not my fault! They borrowed someone's car. That was not the car they were supposed to be in! Fuck...Remy?" His voice went sheepish, "they brought friends home..."  
  
"I hate you so much right now-"  
  
"It's not my fault!" He repeated indignantly, "how was I supposed to know they were going to bring their swinger buddies home with them?"  
  
"You're a sick man Jake." He turned his head and gently pushed the dog's muzzle away to cease the excited washing of his face. "How many?"  
  
"Four. Assuming that's you in the back room, they're all  between you and the door..."  
  
"Where the hell else would I be idiot?" He growled softly and scratched her ears, "looks like we're goin' out the back, girl."  
  
"Are you talking to the dog?"  
  
"Unless you change into a woman when no one's watchin' you, yes, I'm talkin' ta de dog."  
  
He'd prepared for this possibility, he'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but of course, the window was his only way out. He took off his jacket and pulled the straps of the climbing harness up over his shoulders. Unwrapping the rope from around his waist, he sat the dog down and tied the end to the balcony railing. The final step was to tie the coat around himself like a sling and place the dog inside.  
  
"I'm glad you're miniature now petite, or dis would be really difficult." He dropped the length of rope behind him, lowered himself over the edge, and began his slow descent. "Don't got enough line ta make it all de way Gavin, find me another route."  
  
"On it boss..." He rustled around a bit and panned around with his thermal camera, "drop eleven floors, two windows to the left. They left a window open for you."  
  
Remy counted floors in his head, his arms straining with the effort of trying to lower himself down at such a slow pace. Normally when he did this, there wasn't this much distance between himself and the ground, and there wasn't an extra five pounds squirming around on his chest, determined to lick his face while his hands were occupied.  
  
"When I get outta dis Jake, remind me ta kick your ass..."  
  
Courier snorted and shifted his camera back up to make sure no one had noticed the missing dog. "Oh yeah, sure, let me just jot that down for ya."  
  
Ignoring the sarcasm in his ear, Remy climbed through the open window and detached the harness from the rope,  breathing out a sigh of relief. He wasn't afraid of heights, but he couldn't deny he was glad to have something solid under his feet.  
  
He untied the coat and put it back on, tucking the little dog inside it and under his arm before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. "Think you can manage to keep me off camera?"  
  
"Course I can. You're invisible to everyone but me. Would you like me to chant a few made up words? I know your people are partial to that sort of thing."  
  
"Jake, I swear-"  
  
"I know, I know, you're gonna kick my ass. I've already heard this part. You're clear all the way down. I'll see you at HQ. Courier out."

~*~

"So...," Jake drawled, sprawled out in a recliner with a beer and a grin. "How did it go? Was she grateful?"  
  
"Disgustingly." Remy shrugged and stole his beer, "It was mildly insulting."  
  
"It's the catsuit," his friend snickered, "I keep telling you, put on real clothes before you return the goods. You can't expect rational thought when you look like you've just come from a BDSM club."  
  
"Ya think so?" He grinned and tossed him a manila envelope, "guess dat makes you de bottom, eh mon ami?"  
  
Courier snatched the envelope and winced; there was no where near the amount of cash there should have been. "This ain't fair Rem, you said you were gonna kick my ass, not take my money."  
  
"Oh I was, but this hurts more." Remy smirked and swirled on his coat, "See ya Jake."


	2. Le Diable Blanc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing research for a story, a journalism student finds herself in New Orleans and comes face-to-face with a local legend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came to me while watching a Halloween special on New Orleans. There are so many fascinating myths and legends there and I decided to incorporate my favorite 'white' devil'. I hope you enjoy. Gambit/Remy/Le Diable Blanc is the property of Marvel.

New Orleans; it was a city teeming with life, sound, and history. It was a seamless mesh of the modern era with all its bells and whistles, and times gone by when myths and legends were more than stories told around campfires. It was those particular attributes that drew college journalism student Rebecca Mills to the Crescent City.  
  
To the people of New Orleans, their legends were living, breathing things in themselves, and that was exactly what she needed to give her article the edge over the rest of her class. The people here believed.  They believed so fiercely that for the time it took them to relate the story, she believed right along with them.  
  
She’d been here for almost a week now, and she’d gathered plenty of data, filled two composite notebooks with notes, shorthand, references, and any facts she could find in either the local library or the archives to back up the sometimes wild stories she’d been told. She had more than enough for a satisfactory story, but one particular tale had caught her attention and she was determined to learn more about it.  
  
Unfortunately, it was the one local legend that seemed to be selective; only those born and raised in or around New Orleans new enough to make it worthwhile, yet very few of the locals would talk about it. It left her by turns intrigued, confused, and frustrated. It was just a story, right? Why would friendly people, eager to share stories with a newcomer, suddenly become tight-lipped at the mention of it? What was so important?  
  
It was those questions that had her walking down an alley that she hoped would take her to the shop of one Mattie Baptiste, a rumored voodoo practitioner. She glanced at her watch and sighed in frustration, it wasn’t quite dark, but it was getting that way, and she had no idea if her shortcut would take her where she wanted to go. In her excitement at getting a lead, she had left her hotel room without her map, and she was decidedly turned around.  
  
She hadn’t given it much thought, having located the address on her phone, but she was regretting the alley quickly upon seeing two men loitering a little ways ahead of her, well before the alley met the street. Raised in a big city herself, she never went anywhere without the mace she kept inside her cavernous purse, but that did little to reassure her. There were two of them, and she wasn’t at all confident in the little can of pepper spray now that she might have occasion to use it.  
  
She’d decided to turn around when they pushed off the wall and started toward her, but the sound of footsteps approaching her from behind made her freeze in place.  She had just managed to get her phone out of her bag when a man passed her and stopped in front of her, speaking to the others in the dialect she’d come to recognize as Cajun French.  
  
She had no idea what he said, but they quickly turned and left the alley. She took a couple steps back, her heart beating hard in her chest; only one now, she might be able to handle one in the event her rescuer turned out to be some kind of crazy serial killer.  
  
Tall, that was her first impression of him, really her only impression of him as his body was hidden underneath a long, brown trench coat. She could see his hair, a brown maybe, tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. She might have been jealous of the smooth strands in comparison to her own snarled curls, had the situation been different….  
  
“Excuse me?” She had to swallow to wet her throat. Maybe running would be a smarter alternative to talking to some strange man in an alley, but he had just saved her. At least, she hoped that had been his intention.  
  
The fear coming off of her was almost a solid thing, but he couldn’t blame her for that. No, in fact, it made him think just a little better of her, after finding her wandering down an alley. The two he’d run off were pick-pockets, not the most skilled pair, but they were relatively harmless. Still, easy mark or no, this one had become of personal interest to him.  
  
Deciding laughing at her wasn’t the best way to begin, Remy turned around, smiling reassuringly at her, “Lovely as dis city is Mademoiselle, ya shouldn’t be wanderin’ through de back streets on your own. Are ya alright?”  
  
She was trembling like a leaf, but she hadn’t run like he’d thought she would. Brave little thing, he decided, at last, looking her over. He had a good foot in height on her and she’d just stood there, admittedly she was gripping her purse so hard her knuckles were white, but she’d stayed. Bravery was a trait he admired. Persistence was another, and from everything he’d heard, it was another quality she had in spades.  
  
“Chere?” He prompted gently when she simply stood there staring at him.  
  
She blushed a little and jerked her eyes away from him, trying to make sense of the words fluttering around in her head in that accent, thicker than most people she’d talked to, but still understandable. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you…” Well, this was embarrassing, she thought, adjusting her bag on her shoulder to give herself time to settle.  
  
He was good looking, she’d noticed that. She took great pride in being able to notice a lot of things at once after all, but she’d been staring at him, wondering why he was wearing sunglasses when it was almost dark out. Trying to preserve a little dignity, she smiled back at him sheepishly, “Really, thank you. It was stupid to come down here. I was just trying to get to this shop before it closed for the day…”  
  
“It’s safer ta shop durin’ de day chere.”  
  
“Oh, I’m not here to shop. I’m a journalism student, I’m here doing research for a story. I just got a little turned around.” She fished through her purse, looking for the address she’d written down on a scrap receipt she’d gotten from Starbucks earlier that day. “Do you know where this is? I’m Rebecca, by the way,” she grinned, holding out the piece of paper.  
  
Rebecca, journalism student, far too trusting; all bits of information he hadn’t known about her up to this point, but much like her, he enjoyed learning about what was of interest to him. At the moment, what he was most interested in was the tourist asking a lot of questions about Le Diable Blanc.  
  
He took the receipt and glanced down at the hastily scrawled lines and smiled, “I’m Remy, an oui, I know where dis is. Dis’s my Tante’s shop, you’re real close in fact. It’s outta de alley an a couple doors down ta de right, but she ain’t in today. She ain’t been feelin’ well.”  
  
“Oh.” She took the paper back and stuffed it back down in her bag, “Shoot…I really need to talk to her.”  
  
The corner of his mouth tipped up and he leaned back against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other, “ya in need of a lil voodoo chere?” He knew what she wanted to talk to Mattie about. He’d had half a dozen people tell him about the stranger asking about him, and that some idiot had pointed her in this direction, but he had no intention of scaring her, and letting on that he knew more than he should, would undoubtedly scare her.  
  
“No, no, nothing like that. I’m here researching local myths, legends, and things like that, and I was told she was the person I should talk to. What was it you called her a minute ago?”  
  
“Tante,” he laughed, “it means Aunt. Dat’s what everyone calls her, an oui, she’d be a good one ta talk to. She’s got lots a stories she could tell ya for your paper, but like I said. She ain’t in today. How ‘bout ya lemme buy ya a drink an I’ll see if I can help ya. I ain’t Mattie by no means, but I’ve lived here all my life.”  
  
“I don’t know…I’m not much of a drinker, and then there’s the fact that I don’t know you. Stranger danger’s a thing you know?” A fact made all the more prevalent to her as she couldn’t see his eyes. She didn’t know why, but not being able to see them made her feel just a little uncomfortable.  
  
“One drink.” He grinned at her and offered her his arm, “Den we won’t be strangers. C’mon, it don’t even gotta be an alcoholic drink. My hands’ll be visible de whole time, we’ll talk a lil, an when you’re ready ta leave, I’ll have de bartender call ya a cab.”  
  
More charmed than she wanted to be, she took his arm, and let him lead her out of the alley. “Alright, one drink. Maybe you can help me,” she mused aloud, glad to see that they were back out on the main street in full view of the public. “You said you’re a local?”  
  
“Born an raised,” he said proudly, holding a door open for her. The bar was right across from Mattie’s shop, not that she was paying attention to that fact.  
  
He glanced across the street and nodded at the lady herself, before following his newest acquaintance inside, and steering her to his usual table. “What ya havin’? Soda, beer, wine? It’s on me. “  
  
“Oh, um…” She glanced around for a menu and shrugged, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”  
  
“No, ya won’t darlin’, not what I normally drink. Trust me.” He winked and pushed his way good-naturedly up to the bar, and came back with two unopened bottles of beer. He slid one across the table to her and sat down, twisting the top off of his own and taking a drink. “What was it ya wanted ta ask me?”  
  
“I’ve gotten so much wonderful material; ghost stories, haunted houses, a couple about a voodoo priestess, one about this guy that had his own harem here, but there’s this one… Someone mentioned it; it seemed more like a joke, and when I asked about it, he wouldn’t say any more. So, I’ve been asking everyone I talk to. It seems that not too many people that move here know about it, and most of the locals I’ve talked to either won’t talk about it at all or are very reluctant. It’s odd…”  
  
“What is it?” He turned back to the bar and raised his hand, mouthing a few words.  
  
“Le Diable Blanc, it means white devil…”  
  
“Oui, chere, I know what it means. What do ya wanna know ‘bout ‘im?”  
  
“What is it?” She asked, perhaps a little too animatedly, but she was so excited that someone was actually willing to talk about it. “Is it a ghost story, some kind of monster, just a superstition? No one’s been very clear on that part.”  
  
He nodded his thanks at the waitress that sat a basket of fries in front of him and looked thoughtfully at his companion across the table. What to tell her? What to tell her that she would believe?  
  
“He’s a local legend I guess ya could say, not a superstition, though most a de older people’re superstitious about ‘im. It ain’t a ghost story, can’t say it ain’t a horror story, but dere’s no ghosts, no monsters.”  
  
“You keep saying ‘he’. If he’s not a ghost and not some kind of monster, what is he?”  
  
He laughed and grabbed a couple fries, “what else could he be chere? He’s a man. If dere’s nothin’ supernatural ‘bout ‘im, he’s gotta be a man, no?”  
  
“Wait-“ She plucked up a couple of fries herself and managed to get the top off of her beer bottle, “if it’s just a man, why would he be included in local legends?”  
  
“I didn’t say he was jus’ a man chere said he was a man. He’s…different. Yeah, dat’s a good word. He’s different den jus’ ‘bout everyone else ‘round here. Den ya gotta take into account, de people here are raised Catholic oui? Anythin’ strange or abnormal’s gonna come across as monstrous to de diehards.”  
  
“Does that mean you aren’t religious?”  
  
“Not at all, I was raised Catholic myself, go ta church wit’ de family every Sunday. I’m jus’ a lil more open minded den some.” He smiled to himself and sipped his beer, pushing the food closer to her. If she was going to be drinking that, he wanted her to have something in her stomach since she admittedly wasn’t a drinker.  
  
“So, Le Diable Blanc is just a person like you and me?”  
  
“More or less…”  
  
“What does that mean?” She pulled her notebook from her purse and flipped to a fresh page, “you don’t mind if I take notes do you?”  
  
“Go right ahead,” he chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “It means he’s more den he is less. He’s a man, but he ain’t considered a normal one.”  
  
“What makes him inhuman then? Does he have a third eye? Wings? Was he born with the mark of the beast or something?”  
  
“Non, dere’s no extra eyes, no extra limbs, but de wings would be kinda cool wouldn’t dey? Non, it’s his eyes dat marks ‘im, so dey say, as devil born. Dere’s black where de white should be, an de iris is red.”  
  
The mad scribbling stopped and she looked up at him, “so you’re saying people are being cruel to someone with an eye disease? That’s really mean, not to mention disappointing.” She dropped her pen disgustedly and took a large swallow of her drink, “all the effort I wasted when someone could have just said, ‘yeah, we were cruel to this poor guy and don’t like to talk about it.’ Ugh…”  
  
“Well, dat’s definitely a new assessment,” amused, he looked down at the page, trying to decipher her notes, “but not entirely accurate. Dey ain’t ashamed a de way dey acted, dey jus’ didn’t understand, an now dat dey do, dey don’t feel any better ‘bout it.”  
  
“And here I thought the people here were nice…” She finished her beer and pressed a hand to her head, “whoa, I’m starting to feel that now…”  
  
“Ya really are a lightweight ain’t ya?” He laughed and patted her free hand, “jus’ keep eatin’, and you’ll be fine. De people here are nice, but back den, dey didn’t know what ta do wit’ ‘im, what ta make a ‘im. Dere’d never been someone like ‘im here before.”  
  
“You’d think in a place where they have voodoo priestesses, they’d been a little more open-minded.”  
  
“You’d think,” he nodded, draining his own drink, “but people know ‘bout voodoo, dey don’t know ‘bout devils.” He tossed several bills down on the table and instead of fighting his way back over to the bar, he pulled his own phone out and called a taxi for her, “I should get goin’ chere. Appreciate de company, an de conversation. Hope I helped ya a lil bit.”  
  
“Wait!” She just barely caught his hand as he stood up, with the way her head was spinning. “Why wouldn’t anyone talk about him?”  
  
“Cause it’s rude ta talk ‘bout people I’d imagine, ‘specially when it can get back ta de person dey’re talkin’ ‘bout.”  
  
She didn’t know if it was the beer or the prospect of being able to talk to this person that was making her suddenly giddy, but she wanted to bounce in her seat. “Then he still lives here?”  
  
“Sure he does. He likes it here.” Gently, he slipped his hand free of hers and tucked his hands in his pockets. “What’s not ta like?”  
  
“If no one else will talk about him, why are you?” She’d had a thought while listening to him, a very important one, but it was slippery now and she couldn’t quite reach it. “You know him don’t you?”  
  
“Oui,” he tipped his head down, letting his glasses slip down his nose, and winked at her, “I know ‘im.”  
  
He didn’t wait for the quick gasp that followed him out the door. He stepped out into the night, at last taking off his glasses and putting them in his pocket. Legend, he laughed to himself, shaking his head, bullshit…funny bullshit, but still. Walking back into the alley where he’d found her, he climbed a fire escape and walked along the rooftops, enjoying the big, bright moon that hung over his city.  
  
A little shaky on her feet, Rebecca had managed to grab her things and get outside quickly, looking around for him. She wasn’t drunk enough to mistake what she’s seen; those eyes… Maybe she should feel stupid for talking to him that way, talking about him that way, but she was still riding that burst of excitement. If only he hadn’t run off the way he had…  
  
Sighing in disappointment, she glanced up and stopped. There on the rooftop, silhouetted by the moon at his back, she could see a lone figure, the long coat flapping around him like the wings she’d questioned him about.  
  
She could just make out his eyes from this distance and she raised her hand in a wave. She felt immensely rewarded when he mirrored her motion, and this time, when he moved away, vanishing into the darkness, she didn’t try to follow him.  
  
Instead, she pulled a mini-recorder from her bag, never taking her eyes from the spot where she’d seen him, “In New Orleans, every day the people live and breathe their history. They pass down through the generations that which makes up a place’s character; the stories that bring wonder to their world. In a land where legends live, brought to life by the people that believe in them, he walks the night…. Le Diable Blanc, the white devil of New Orleans.”


	3. Not My Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last night of fun before Remy settles into life at Xavier's school. A certain feral might just help him with that, whether he wants to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that I write so many bar fics >< I apologize for nothing as it shows my two favorite mutants in their natural element.
> 
> As always, I own none of the X-Men.
> 
> Enjoy!

Too long. It had been entirely too long and Remy was tired of the hiding and the running. He was tired of sleeping with one eye open and constantly looking over his shoulder. It was time for a change, that’s what Remy kept telling himself. It wasn’t that he was scared; Remy LeBeau wasn’t afraid of anything but his nightmares, but even those were becoming too much.

 

He’d come north after contacting a man, a professor at a school for people like him. A school for mutants… Charles Xavier had seemed only too happy to extend him an invitation, though Remy still wasn’t sure about becoming a part of his pet project.

  
He shoved his way into a bar he’d found in his wanderings in a city he already found much too cold. He’d been spending much of his time the last few years in parts of the world that made Louisiana feel lukewarm, so to Remy, this weather was downright frigid… At least there was no snow. Not yet anyway.

  
It was only a small consolation as he made his way to up front to the bar and ordered a drink. He had too much on his mind to be overjoyed by something beyond his control. Pondering Xavier and his X-Men seemed the more logical approach, though Remy wasn’t in the mood for logical tonight. He wasn’t in the mood for thoughts of leather bound crusaders keeping the world safe for good little humanoids, be they human or mutant. He wanted to have a little fun tonight and save the thinking for tomorrow.

  
The bourbon slipped smoothly down his throat, pooling in his belly to warm his blood. To his mind the only thing better than good bourbon for warming up a man was good sex; something else he hadn’t permitted himself as of late. That was a damn shame too, as he enjoyed sex on a level that went beyond physical. Maybe that would be his reward for being so long on the move, but was there anyone here worth making the effort?

  
Sipping his drink slowly, Remy surveyed the bar, his unique eyes safely hidden behind dark glasses. He knew he was getting looks, but he was used to that. Shades inside were bound to draw attention and if they didn’t, his clothes certainly would. He’d dressed to impress, himself first of course, but it never hurt to know that eyes lingered appreciatively on him when he wasn’t looking.

  
It wasn’t the shy types Remy was interested in tonight. He had no patience for the delicate dance that sort of seduction would require. He wanted brazen, he wanted confident, and maybe a hint of danger. He’d been playing it safe too long now. It was time to take a chance or two, especially considering what awaited him the next day. If he was going to be cloistered in a school for God only knew how long, he was going to enjoy his last night of freedom with a bit of a challenge.

  
Finished with his drink, Remy pushed the glass back across the bar and stood to immerse himself in the thin crowd of dancers. He moved among them, between them, flashing smiles, dropping a light touch where it would be welcomed. There were a few, attractive, willing, but they were too safe to satisfy his mood. The women weren’t cutting it for him. They were soft where he was jagged, smooth where he was raw. He needed something harder, hotter, wilder.

  
That was proving difficult as very few men would look at him openly. He ignored the disgusted looks, and glanced just as quickly away from the overly eager eyes; college boys couldn’t handle him and he wasn’t looking for a kiddie party. He wanted someone that knew how to play the game and wasn’t afraid to fight to win.

  
Frustrated, he shoved a hand through his hair and glanced back toward the front to find a hard gaze locked on him in the mirror behind the bar. Thick dark hair, intense eyes, intriguingly broad shoulders; Remy felt his stomach flutter in anticipation. The man wasn’t sneering at him, no, he was just staring at Remy with a narrow-minded focus that made the Cajun shiver.

  
Hopeful, despite the plaid he could see peeking out from beneath the man’s leather jacket, Remy tilted his head to the side, a clear indication even with his glasses that he’d spotted his onlooker. Because he was studying him closely, Remy just caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth before the man raised his beer to his lips.

  
Narrowing his eyes behind his glasses, Remy started slowly toward him, giving them both time to decide their next course of action but from the slight hitch to his shoulders, Remy would have sworn the man had just snorted at him. That was both damnably frustrating and infuriatingly attractive. He could count on one hand the number of people that had turned him down when he set his sights on them, but no one had ever scoffed at him before…

  
There had been a change, a ripple in the air that had nothing to do with the blast of winter air as the door had opened ahead of someone entering the bar. Harry’s was popular, people came and went, especially on a Friday night, but the air had never felt charged like this. Logan didn’t turn, he wasn’t overly concerned about whoever had just entered, but he was curious so he’d lifted his eyes from his beer to watch the happenings in the mirror.

  
A man, long and tall, made his way across the bar, heads turning in his wake. Rich kid, Logan guessed, his clothes said as much, but something about him kept Logan from pegging him a college boy. There were always a few of those coming in and out, playing pool, getting stupid drunk and knocking things over, but they typically traveled in packs and he’d never seen one move like that.

  
A panther, he mused silently, still watching the newcomer in the mirror, a little secretive, a little dangerous, and arrogantly beautiful. He paid no mind to the looks, the longing, lecherous glances as if he was used to that kind of attention. He probably was. The pretty boys were always aware of the attention pointed their way, and Logan doubted this one was any different. And yet…

  
What was he doing stalking slowly through Logan’s bar like he was scoping the terrain or selecting the choicest pick of the herd? A low growl rumbled unbidden through Logan’s chest as he watched the kid move, ignoring the females and rejecting his male admirers with little more than a turn of the head.

  
Playboy, Logan thought, looking for a bit of excitement, or trouble; that type always found more than their share of both. Determined to ignore him, Logan ordered another beer. He had better things to do than watch some kid try to pick up a date. Not that it wasn’t a little amusing in its way. The kid could have anyone with one of those thousand watt smiles, not that Logan had noticed, yet he was being decidedly picky.

  
Almost against his will, Logan’s eyes sought him out again in the mirror. There was something interesting about the way he moved, an awareness that seemed a little more than human. Before he’d had time to consider that point, Logan became aware of the heaviness behind him, the weight of hidden eyes meeting his in the glass in front of him.

  
Unabashedly Logan stared at him, holding that gaze as long as the boy wanted to look. There was something challenging in the way the kid looked at him, but there was no mistaking the interested tilt of his head. Keep dreamin’ kid, he snorted to himself, never gonna happen.

  
Remy didn’t know if it was good or bad, but those eyes never left him as he walked up beside him. He ordered himself a beer and leaned up against the bar beside the stranger, “evenin’.”

  
Logan looked. If the kid was going to stand like that, leather duster spread open like an offering over red silk and painted on jeans, Logan felt he had a right to look. Pretty boy, Logan thought again, though with slightly less derision now that he could see the whole package. That didn’t mean he was interested, not overly at least.

  
“Beat it, kid,” he grunted, grabbing a handful of pretzels from the bowl in front of him, “I ain’t interested.”

  
“Ya sure ‘bout dat cher?” Remy asked, reaching over to steal a pretzel himself, letting his fingers graze over Logan’s while he did so. “Cause you been lookin’ at Remy fo’ a while now.”

  
A jolt shot from his fingers down his arm, but Logan was old enough to ignore such things, “If I wasn’t, I am now. Who the hell calls themselves by their name? Unless you’re some kinda musician, in which case, I really ain’t interested.”

  
Rather than feeling deterred, Remy nearly purred with delight. The man was a challenge and an interesting one at that. He could feel his attraction, a low-grade buzz along his skin, yet the man chose to ignore it. Never one to ignore his own urges, Remy found that fascinating. “Maybe jus’ wanted ta letcha know my name, even if ya do insist on bein’ rude an keepin’ yours ta yo’self.”

  
“Well, if me bein’ rude bothers you, you should go find someone else to play with. It don’t get any better.”

  
“Don’t bother me none,” Remy said, waving a hand casually, “Like listenin’ ta ya talk. Got dis gruff, growly sorta thing happenin’. It’s sexier’n hell.”

  
He couldn’t believe this, here he was, wearing his ‘fuck off’ face complete with bad attitude and the kid was still flirting with him. Guy had balls, either that or he was stupid, but somehow even with the backwoods accent, Logan didn’t think that was the case. “Look, kid, I don’t know if you lost a bet or what, but you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

  
“Didn’ lose no bet,” Remy said and reached around to grab the man’s beer for a drink while he waited on his own, “think you’re interestin’.”

  
“Ya don’t know me.”

  
“Maybe I wanna,” he grinned. “Maybe I’d like ta get ta know ya real well.”

  
Logan snatched his beer back with a scowl and sat it down with a loud thunk. Brazen little bastard… There was no way he’d be interested in some pushy rich kid, a southern one no less, no matter how good he smelled. And he did smell good, Logan admitted to himself reluctantly. He smelled like leather and spice and rain.

  
Here in the hazy bar interior, Logan hadn’t realized it had begun to rain, but pearly drops of water still clung, shimmering to the snug black leather wrapped almost lovingly around a frame that had more muscle than Logan had originally assumed. Hair longer than Logan was used to seeing on a man nowadays hung down his back, darker than maybe it would have been otherwise, but there was no denying damp hair looked good on this one.

  
And why the hell was he noticing this anyway? He huffed out a breath, annoyed at them both. “You can’t handle me. I could break you in half-”

  
“You could try.”

  
Logan wanted to growl; frustrating cocky sonuva bitch… Who the hell was he, coming into Logan’s bar, grating on his nerves, invading his space… Challenging him with that damn lilting voice and a smug smile. Logan didn’t go for scaring the normal folk in most cases, but he felt the telltale shifting beneath his skin and thought he might have to make an exception for this one.

  
He needed to walk away before he did something he would later regret. He just wasn’t sure yet if that would be threatening him with his claws, or grabbing him by that long tail of hair and dragging him off to a secluded corner.

  
That was the hell of it, what was making him so damn pissed. Brat was getting to him in both the best and worst ways, appealing to his senses, yet scraping at his sensibilities. A dangerous combination, especially for a human. Yet it seemed this ‘Remy’ had no instincts, no sense of self-preservation.

  
Anyone else would have turned tail by now, but not this one with his designer clothes and fucking sunglasses. Why would you need to wear sunglasses in a damn building? Annoyed, he reached up and grabbed him, yanking them off with a low growl. If that didn’t chase him off, Logan didn’t know what would, but damn if maybe it hadn’t been a mistake.

  
Remy’s face was clearly visible now, though how sunglasses had managed to hide those cheekbones Logan didn’t know. Sharp features, pretty mouth, and that jaw… He almost wanted to give the glasses back to him if it could distract him from the rest of his face again.

  
He glanced down at the sunglasses in his hand and laid them down gently on the bar, waiting for Remy’s reaction.

  
If someone had done that to Logan, he would have hit them, but all Remy did was shake his hair into his face. Granted he had stiffened in a way Logan found quite interesting, but he made no move to try and reclaim his property. Not going to fight, but not going to run either… Logan was confused and reluctantly fascinated, not only by the man in front of him but with himself. He never acted this way. He could have gotten up and left rather than draw this out, but he hadn’t. And Remy…

  
Dark glasses, and now his hair in his eyes; he was hiding something. He wasn’t blind, he moved too well for that. So why keep his eyes covered? Logan’s mind immediately went to Scott, causing his lip to curl. Scott was the last person he wanted to think about on his night off, but that’s who he was reminded of, except Scott had a reason to keep his eyes covered.

  
Easy, he cautioned himself. Not everyone with strange tendencies was a mutant. Maybe the kid was a brawler and had a black eye or something. Curious, he pushed Remy’s hair out of his face, only to find him looking down, his eyes lowered so that they were nearly closed. “Look at me,” he demanded, grabbing Remy’s chin and forcing his head up. He couldn’t explain his own unusual reactions to him, but this was one mystery he could get to the bottom of.

  
“Is there a problem Logan?” Harry, bartender, and owner of Logan’s home away from home, eyed the two men carefully as he’d been doing for some time. People didn’t often approach Logan and those who did never stayed long. Harry had known Logan long enough to be able to recognize the signs of his temper, he’d lost enough glasses and tables to that temper, and he wanted to intervene before things got out of hand. He knew what Logan was, and while it didn’t bother him, he was concerned for the guy Logan was dealing with.

  
Immediately Logan dropped his hand and grinned over at Harry. He liked to consider the man a friend, but he wished he’d been more selective with his timing. “There’s no problem, Harry. Just having a discussion with Remy here.”

  
Unconvinced, Harry set another beer down in front of him and grunted, “just make sure you take it outside. You bust up my place again and I’m blacklisting you.”

  
Looking back at Remy, Logan stilled, Harry all but forgotten. “I’m not gonna fight,” he said, his voice gone noticeably softer.

  
“And I don’t breathe,” the bartender muttered as he walked away to fill an order at the other end of the bar.

  
Remy had done as he’d asked, meeting Logan’s gaze unflinching. He stared head on, but Logan couldn’t miss the tension in him, like a coiled spring. Red on black, like rubies suspended in the blackness of a starless night; beautiful, Logan thought again, even his inner voice breathless in a way that made him shift on his stool uncomfortably. A mutant then… That certainly changed things.

  
“Ya gonna say somethin’ homme, or jus’ stare at me?” Remy kept his tone light enough, part tease, part challenge; he’d seen it all, heard it all when it came to reactions on his eyes, but this one mattered to him more than he expected.

  
He’d stopped being self-conscious years ago, but that intense stare made him want to fidget. He waited for the fear, the disgust that normally accompanied these situations, but there was none, neither in his eyes or his emotions.

  
When the man, Logan he now knew, just continued to watch him, Remy sighed and lifted a hand to the bar to drum his fingers across the top in frustration. “Look cher, I know I’m pretty an all, but dis’s getting’ ridiculous.”

  
“You’re a bit more’n pretty,” Logan laughed, “but you know that already. Have a seat Remy.”

  
“Think I’d rather stand if it’s all de same ta you. Logan.”

  
Hearing his name said in just that way was almost enough to keep Logan from shooting Harry a reproachful glance for letting his name slip. “What’s the matter?” He asked, turning his attention back to the man towering over him. He was standing closer than Logan would normally allow anyone to get, but he really did smell nice and Logan was certain he really could break him in half if he had to. “You feel at a disadvantage when ya ain’t the tallest one in the room?”

  
“Maybe I jus’ like lookin’ at ya from dis angle. Course, ya probably look good from any angle.”

  
“Ya don’t give up do ya?” Logan asked, more amused than he wanted to be. He picked up his beer again before he could grin outright. “Already told you that I’m not interested.”

  
“I think maybe you’re lyin’,” Remy said, shifting so that he was very nearly leaning against Logan’s shoulder. “I think ya happen ta like me quite a bit.”

  
“We’re talkin’ interest, not liking.”

  
“All right,” Remy nodded agreeably, “maybe ya ain’t sure if ya like me, but you’re sure as hell interested.”

  
Logan turned toward him, giving himself a little space, though nothing could make him forget the heat bleeding through that silk shirt or the feel of Remy against his shoulder, “Seem awful sure of yourself. I haven’t done a damn thing to give you that impression. In fact, short of sayin’ it, which I am now, I’ve been tryin’ to get you to go the fuck away.”

  
“Ya push people away cher, but ya don’t mean it.” He ghosted his fingers along Logan’s arm, “not wit’ your eyes like dey are, not when you’re takin’ breaths deeper den ya really need.”

  
“I’m not your dear,” he huffed, jerking away from a touch that felt oddly intimate. “I’m not your anything, and you’re clearly overestimating your own appeal.”

  
“Bullshit,” Remy grinned, “ya ain’t de first feral I’ve met. I know de signs when I see ‘em.”

  
Logan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and he inhaled deeply searching for another scent on him, “Do you?” He growled, his hands finding their way inside leather to latch onto the silk covered skin. Logan dragged him forward until Remy was forced to stand between his legs. “Would you know what to do with someone like me, Remy?”

  
“Ya don’t wanna grab at me like dat homme”-

  
“And you don’t wanna start shit you can’t finish.” His voice was harsh, a step below a snarl, but when fear stung his nose, Logan’s hands gentled, stroking slowly up and down Remy’s sides. With muscle quivering under his touch, it reminded him strongly of soothing a horse, and he tried to soften his tone, “I’m not gonna hurt ya kid.”

  
“I’m not a kid.” It was a quick retort, automatic. He hated when anyone called him kid. That’s what Creed had called him when he was in a mood good enough to call him something a little less rude, but no less demeaning.

  
Remy breathed deeply, calming himself down. Fear was unacceptable, especially when dealing with a feral. It by turns excited them or pissed them off, and that wasn’t at all the sort of reaction he’d been looking for. He’d known what Logan was as soon as he’d gotten close enough to really feel him. A feral’s emotions were somehow more powerful, they were raw and primitive, not tempered with the complications of thought.

  
Remy had liked what he’d felt from him or he wouldn’t have stayed. He knew it was risky, this game he was playing, but Logan had that edge he was looking for and he wasn’t ready to give up. It was a battle he wanted, to pit his will against a man that had the ability to own him, at least for a night. He had a feeling Logan could do that, and there was something about him that Remy liked, maybe even trusted.

  
He wasn’t afraid of Logan’s dark side, he had one of his own and he felt his mouth tip up at the corners even as he stepped closer, invading Logan’s space. He brought his hands up to rest on tensed shoulders, his fingers taking hold of the leather jacket Logan wore. “An believe me cher, Remy can finish anythin’ he starts.”

  
Those eyes had gotten impossibly darker, the expression in them far away, but the fear smell had vanished as quickly as it had come. Logan had been grateful for that, until Remy had grinned and suddenly he was so close, eyes sparkling with mischief, and Logan’s sense were full of him.

  
No one should smell like that, lust and heat and the faintest hint of cologne. No one had any right coming into a dive bar looking that damn good. Recklessness and arrogance and a fuck it all attitude. It shouldn’t have been so goddamn attractive, but it was. Remy was.

  
It was a bad idea, Logan knew it even as his hands slid up Remy’s back to tug him down so Logan could nuzzle at his neck above the collar of his coat, “Think you can handle me, Gumbo?”

  
“What?” Laughter was the last thing Remy expected with Logan’s breath hot on his skin, but he couldn’t help himself. He eased back, hands still clinging to Logan’s shoulders. “What did you call me?”

  
“Gumbo,” Logan grinned, “figured it would suit a smartass Cajun. Warm and spicy, right?”

  
“Oh, hell no,” Remy laughed again, bringing a hand up to stroke his fingers along Logan’s jaw, “ya ain’t even callin’ me dat.”

  
“How you plan on stoppin’ me?” Logan asked, quirking an eyebrow, “Gumbo.” Remy’s eyes dropped to his mouth and though Logan liked the thought, he eased Remy back and stood up. “Hold that thought. This ain’t the place for it.”

  
“What?” Remy drawled, a hand sliding down Logan’s chest, “de locals got a problem wit’ two guys or wit’ mutants?”

  
“Both,” Logan shrugged, “neither. I don’t give a shit about what they think.” He reached back for Remy’s sunglasses and tucked an earpiece in the pocket of Remy’s jeans, “but it gets back to the school that I picked up some guy in here and Xavier’s gonna give me an earful. And I’m not in the mood to listen to it.”

  
“Xavier?” Remy went still while he looked Logan over more closely, “you’re from Xavier’s school?”

  
“I work there.” Logan shrugged again and tossed money on the bar to settle his tab. “Why? How do you even…? Shit-” Logan huffed out a laugh that was as much disappointment as humor. “You’re Gambit, right? The Professor said to keep an eye out for you. If he’d told me what you looked like, I might have looked harder.”

  
“You’re one a his X-Men.” Remy could see it now. He’d seen the files, seen glimpses of them on tv. He didn’t know how he hadn’t recognized him before, except he hadn’t really been looking to encounter the mutant police in a bar. “Wolverine... Well, dat makes dis jus’ a lil awkward. Damn…”

  
“Damn,” Logan echoed, in total agreement with that sentiment. The first time in a while he’d found someone that stirred him and it would be Xavier’s latest lost boy. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that would drive someone like Remy to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, but he wasn’t exactly in the position to ask.

  
He started for the door, his hand shoving through his hair as he walked, “I’ll see you there. Unless you need a ride?”

  
Remy couldn’t help himself, he glanced at Logan’s ass quickly before he hurried to catch up with him. He couldn’t stand the sudden awkwardness that was swamping the sexual tension they’d had burning between them. He caught him just outside the door, took the front of Logan’s jacket in his hands, and smirked, “wouldn’t turn down a ride from you.”

  
Logan's initial reaction to being grabbed passed swiftly and he watched Remy, amused and a little surprised; the innuendo couldn’t have been more obvious and he could feel his skin begin to tingle once more in anticipation, “I think there’s a rule somewhere about no fraternizing between team members.”

  
“Don’t give a damn.” Remy stepped forward, pressing Logan back against the wall, “I ain’t never been much of a rule follower myself.”

  
“Neither have I, Gumbo, but you’re not my type.”

  
“Trust me cher,” Remy breathed, leaning into him, his lips brushing Logan’s with every word, “Remy can be exactly your type.”

  
“You gonna run your mouth the whole time?” Logan asked, his hands once more delving under Remy’s duster to settle on his hips.

  
“Can do whatever you want,” Remy murmured, trailing his lips along Logan’s jaw to purr in his ear, “but I thought you’d prefer de challenge.”

  
Sizzling heat shot straight to his stomach and Logan growled. He grabbed Remy around the waist and spun him around, switching their positions. He pressed Remy back against the wall, his body holding him immobile as his mouth descended on his to steal a biting, bruising kiss. “You thought right.”


End file.
